


Dust Turns To Gold

by lucentic



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3361415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucentic/pseuds/lucentic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>takao may be a little in love with the workings of midorima shintarou and his arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust Turns To Gold

**Author's Note:**

> fuck me over after episode 56 i just desperately need some fluffy midotaka to deal with my broken nerves. shuutoku will always be my veteran king.

 

  
  


i.

  
  


Everything about Midorima Shintarou, Takao decides, is endless. The shooting guard is made out of infinities - hours of hard work put in in and out of the court, hours that would make your eyes cross if you tried to count them all. Continuous determination that brings an extra gleam to his eyes behind his glasses during a particularly close game, the kind of light that you’d never mistake for the shine of the lights above getting into his eyes. Unceasing faith in so many things - himself, his ridiculous Oha Asa that only Takao accommodates, hard work, his lucky pencil. MIdorima’s kind of odd like that, but this is what Takao admires about him the most - his undying spirit and one-track mind.

  


Physically, the boy also stretches on for miles, distances that sometimes even hurt Takao’s hawk-like vision  trying to concentrate and keep his eye on his partner. Midorima towers over him, a beautiful, absolute, terrifying figure of six foot five inches, someone he used to hate with every fibre of his being from that one, merciless match in middle school. The shooting guard is more of a fifty-fifty body ratio kind of person, but it doesn’t stop Takao enviously staring at the length his legs, the bunch of his powerful calf muscles when he flies into his acclaimed _endlessly accurate_ shooting position. And his arms - Takao doesn’t even want to think about the amount of effort and hard work Midorima pours into himself to keep them sinewy, lengthy and  <i>graceful</i> despite the kind of roughhousing that goes on in basketball they experience on a daily basis. Takao is always awestruck, perhaps even a little breathless when he catches Midorima at his highest point of jump when he releases his threes, the perfect flick of his wrist so that the ball rises and rises and spins and _spins_ so that it hits home right in the middle of the hoop, the light of calm concentration in his eyes as he watches the height of his own trajectory, the sweat clinging to the tips of his fringe. Sometimes Takao wonders why the other boy doesn’t wear a headband like he does sometimes during trainings to keep the hair out of his eyes.

  


“Takao.”

  


But he digresses. Takao peeks at the torso leaning over him with one lazy eye, and grins before closing them again and turning his body on the bench so that his face presses into the fresh, crisp cotton of the other’s shirt. “You smell good.”

  


“And I should, seeing how that I’ve just gotten out of the shower.” Midorima doesn’t even try to hide the irritation in his voice. “I’ve let you lie on my lap for fifteen minutes in your _training gear_ , it’s about time you clean yourself up so we can go have dinner.”

  


“Fiiiiiive more minutes, Shin-chan. Just _five_  more.”

  


He’s not prepared for when Midorima mutters something unintelligible, before shifting so suddenly that Takao’s arms are flying to try to keep a hold on the other’s waist so that he doesn’t fall off the bench.

  


“Hey, what-” but the indignation dies in his throat when he feels the other slot his arms under his head and the backs of his knees, swift and smooth.

  


“Would I ever let your lazy personality hurt yourself,” harrumphs the shooting guard, but there is a small smile tucked away in the corner of his mouth that Takao immediately recognizes as teasing.

  


“You did that on purpose!”

  


“Nonsense, Takao.” Midorima stands, holding his partner closer to his chest despite the amount of sweat staining his arms from the back of the other’s damp jersey and sticky skin. He frowns when Takao lets out a gleeful laugh at his attempt to be funny with him, and curls his arm around the boy’s head to flick him effectively in the temple when his flailing arms accidentally catch him in the glasses, almost knocking them off his face.

  


“I’m sorry Shin-chan, I’m just really happy with this royalty treatment, y’know? Me, Takao, being princess-carried by the princess of our veteran team, to be properly ravished in the- _mmmf_.”

  


Midorima is not looking at him when he aggressively drops Takao on the bench, but Takao doesn’t have to be looking at him either to know that the other is blushing madly around his ears at the sudden forward move to shut up him up. “Be done in ten minutes or I’ll just leave you here by yourself.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


ii.

  
  
  


Sometimes Takao has nightmares, and dreams of drowning. The nightmares don’t always start off with him gasping for air and blinded by dark water so he doesn’t know which way is up, but they always end the same way. Takao often wakes up with sweat clinging to his back and a heart rate faster than he feels comfortable having.

  


Today is a routine for him. Takao is so small, so powerless against the roaring tide of the black ocean that licks at his neck and pours into the desperate hole of his mouth, sapping him of the energy and will to stay alive. It is cold, so very cold, he’s never been good with winter, but he’s so alone and bare against the water that the fear that washes over him freezes him right over, and that alone is enough for the ocean to crash over him in triumph, taking him under-

  


Takao wakes up with a start, heaving, and for a few seconds he is struggling against the light shining into his eyes from the window and the way his limbs are still immobile, trapped. It’s only when the shackles shift around him does he realize that he’s not alone, and it is morning.

  


A hand comes up to press against his chest, hot against his clammy skin, a bandaged thumb sweeping over the lines of his collarbones in an attempt to calm him down. The bed creaks as the both of them untangle themselves to sit up against the headboard.

  


“Are you okay?” Midorima is frowning, hair sticking up all over the place and in a normal situation Takao would have laughed himself silly with how messy the other boy looks right now, but Midorima is so concerned and _soft_  that the hysterical laughter to cover things up dies at the tip of his tongue.

  


“Yeah. Just the usual dreams.”

  


“Drowning?”

  


“Yeah. Go back to sleep, you can afford to for a little while before we go down for breakfast and studying sessions. I’m sorry for-”

  


“For what,” Midorima quietly demands. He’s not a man of words, Takao has known that from day one, but somehow the gestures the shooting guard displays to make up for his stream of curt, caustic speech always catch him off guard. Takao finds himself swamped in blanket and half-carried over to Midorima’s side, just so that he can roll the shorter boy on top of him.

  


“Shin-chan, my leg’s under your hip.”

  


The other boy only grunts and shifts, waiting just enough time for Takao to extricate his limb from under him before forcing him to lie stomach-first on top of him, a hand going up to comb through his hair and the other thrown over his eyes to keep out the light.

  


“What-”

  


“Wake us up in an hour. We can sleep in a little today.”

  


Takao can’t really protest under the wave of comforting heat radiating from his boyfriend and the hoodie he has on.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


iii.

  
  


They play Kirisaki Daiichi at the end of their second year, and Midorima has never been so pissed off in a match in his life. He’s not violent, but it takes a lot out of him not to stride up to the cocky little cunt that Hanamiya Makoto is and beat the concept of fair play into him.

  


They’ve won, of course. Shuutoku wasn’t crowned a veteran king for nothing. But they’ve come away with their own battle scars - Ootsubo’s got a couple of jammed fingers, and Miyaji’s still a little dazed from having the wind knocked out of him by an “errant” pass.

  


And Takao. It’s conflicting, the thunder on Midorima’s face that doesn’t fade away even when he meets his partner’s pained eyes, and the feather-light grip on his ankle as he gently tugs his shoe off for him. Takao is torn between making garbled noises of apology in his waves of pain or just keeping his mouth shut, because Midorima is proud and practical and never kneels in front of anyone-

  


“-take him to the therapist,” he hears someone saying, and with a start he realizes that Midorima’s lips are moving, though tight and pressed in a thin line as he surveys the mess in front of him.

  


“I’m sorry, Shin-chan,” he tries, “I can just go on my own. You played a good game today, I’ll just give my mom a call.”

  


“Are you crazy,” he snaps, and Takao flinches with the ferocity of it all. “Do I look like that kind of bastard to leave his teammate to crawl his way to the _therapist_  by himself?”

  


“I- I mean, I know it’s inconvenient for you, since you have your own injuries to deal with-” Takao stops, and chews on the inside of his cheek when he sees how much Midorima’s knee is trembling from the effort to squat in front of him.

  


“Kirisaki Daiichi doesn’t have the ability to rip a new one on me,” the shooting guard says dismissively, leaning over to slide Takao’s hesitant arm across his shoulders. “Old injury.”

  


This surprises him. “You’ve had injuries? Why haven’t you ever told me or coach?”

  


“Whatever for? They don’t bother me as much as your annoyingly talkative self does.”

  


“I’m the only one who puts up with your eccentricity Shin-chan, and you know that.”

  


“Do you see what I mean?” Midorima turns his head so the point guard can see him rolling his eyes, before shifting a little more so that his back is facing the shorter boy. “Get on.”

  
  


“What-”

  


“You obviously can’t walk there, wrecked as your ankle is. Your leg power is dreadful, you know that?”

  


“Is that supposed to be comforting?”

  


“Stop wasting precious time. You’re the one giving my knee problems now.”

  


Stubborn Midorima has never been a side of him Takao has managed to handle, so reluctantly, he curls his arms around his teammate’s neck, stiffening a little when Midorima carefully, _slowly_  slips his arms gently behind his knees to support him.

  


“Shin-chan, if I get too heavy you can put me down and I’ll-”

  


“Quiet, Takao. My specialty is my threes; do you think someone who can put in a three from one end of the court to another is that much of a lightweight like yourself?”

  


“Now you’re just showing off.” They make awkward bows, and fist pumps to their seniors and the rest of their teammates, congratulating each other on their win as a team,but there is so much damage in the air done by their defeated ( _ha_!) opponent that the air still remains heavy.

  


“Kirisaki Daiichi’s put enough slam into us that we’ll have trouble next week, you know.”

  


“That damned Hanamiya. It’s a miracle how he’s managed to continue staying on court despite how obvious he’s becoming with each game.” Midorima’s voice is hard, still angry as they make their way out of the stadium and down the road to get more access to transport.

  


“You could say that’s an achievement in itself.” Takao doesn’t usually have awkward conversations with Midorima, but he’s feeling the tension in the air, how Midorima is conflicted about their game play in the next match when their key players are all down and how much he wants to punch Hanamiya in the face, though he never would when actually given the chance.

  


And then, “Are you okay?” It comes out as a singular question, nothing more, nothing less. But it makes Midorima slow down a little after that.

  


“What, me?”

  


“Your leg.”

  


“Well it kind of hurts and all, given how banged up it is right now, but I should be fine.”

  


“That’s not my point,Takao. I mean, will you be okay, sitting out of future games this season?”

  


That’s been weighing on his mind, a dark cloud ever since he got dragged out of the court to be put on the bench, but it’s not something Midorima needs to know. “It’s going to suck, but for the most part I’ll be okay. Just that you’re not going to have someone as awesome as me to send you roaring passes, Shin-chan.”

  


The taller boy harrumphs, and bends forward a little so he can wriggle out one arm to ruffle Takao on the head. It’s a small gesture that catches him by surprise. “Then get better soon so we can play together again before the season ends.”

  


Takao is laughing, but his eyes are lost on the words _Shuutoku High_  on the back of Midorima’s jacket. Suddenly his teammate’s back seems broader, stronger than ever, and he thinks of ear-shattering cheers and their school motto fluttering in the hype of their games at the stadium.

  


_Persistent and Tireless_. He looks at the muscles shifting beneath Midorima’s arm, the determination roiling in the bones of his limbs.

  


He tells Midorima that he’s grown a lot, and laughs, loud and free into the sky as he’s beaten over the head. But he gets the message. His ankle doesn’t hurt that badly anymore. He has to break a couple of bones to stop being a worthy partner of a player in the Generation of Miracles- of Shuutoku High.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

iv.

  
  


It takes a lot to excite Midorima, to let her emotions seep through from behind her stern, black-framed glasses and severe personality. Dressed as primly as she is for this finale match, hair tied back in a simple ponytail high above her head, Takao is surprised to see her flying down the stadium stairs, taking them two at a time and leaping off the last of them in threes to get to the courts to meet him, to-

  


_celebrate_. It makes Takao burn inside all the hotter, energy that fires his limbs into action again despite feeling like lead only minutes ago, and he runs, too, to meet her in the middle.

  


She’s not as delicate as she looks in her pale blue sun dress and sandals. And Takao knows this fact best, having been with her all the way through her high school and college basketball career before she decided that she should focus on her final year project for graduation year. He knows that her slim figure hides the power of her legs that show themselves when she bursts forward during sprints, or upwards into the boundless air when she gets into her shooting position. Midorima Shintarou is no delicate little flower, and Takao knows this best, having lost to her several times during their private one on ones.

  


She’s too tall for him, too stoic, too severe, too determined, too- _beautiful_ , for him, Takao remembers dimly thinking at the back of his mind when they meet at the free throw line, his team mates cheering behind him and the audience in an uproar at their buzzer beater comeback. It’s too loud, chaotic, noise that Midorima never liked even when she was fighting her own (mostly victorious) battles back in the day. But she’s here, right in front of him, Takao Kazunari, point guard of a black horse team in the final rounds of the nationals-

  


She catches him, easily, almost on reflex.Takao is too overwhelmed by his own feelings of contentment that he doesn’t register only until much later that he’s small and light enough for his own girlfriend to take his body weight in her arms like he was just a sack of rice, and just holds on to her, his legs a little too long to curl around her slim waist, almost knocking her off balance.

  


“Congratulations,” she says, breathless and _smiling_ , and Takao breathes in the heady scent of cherry blossom body lotion and hype. It is enough for him to think _fuck it_ , because they’re in a public place and Midorima hates public displays of affection, and just close in, tugging away her hair band so that her hair falls around her face, and kisses her.

  


She kisses back, fierce and victorious.

 

 


End file.
